


A Vigorous Visit In Whitehall

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Mycroft Holmes, Crack, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mycroft is a Softie, Office Sex, Sherlock is a Brat, Sherlock is a God, Sibling Incest, Smut, Top Sherlock, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22678816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Sherlock has solved an exciting case. Now he needs to come down. And come, basically...
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 15
Kudos: 95





	A Vigorous Visit In Whitehall

**Author's Note:**

> I know I've done something a bit similar before, but there is something so hot about office sex :) I hope you enjoy.

“This was… amazing!” stammered John Watson.

“Extraordinary!” Greg Lestrade shook his head in awe.

Sherlock waved their praise away. “Piece of cake.”

“No, really,” John disagreed. “Nobody would have solved this case. Nobody.”

“Who could have known that this old lady...” Greg threw his hands into the air.

“And the horse!” added John, ruffling his hair in bafflement.

“And that horrible clown!”

“Breathtaking!”

“Fabulous!”

“Impressive to the bone!”

Sherlock shrugged, stone-faced. “If you don't have any _difficult_ case you need my help on…? No? Then I’m off. My brother asked for my presence in Whitehall. Something about Mummy.” He shuddered theatrically.

Greg insisted on shaking his hand. “You are brilliant, thank you so much, Sherlock!”

“Ancient history. See you later, John. Gunther – you know how to reach me when you require my help.”

And with this Sherlock turned on his heel and left with flapping coat tails. Only when he was sitting on the back seat of the cab that had materialised as soon as he had stepped at the edge of the pavement, he allowed himself to fistpump the air. He was the man! He was fantastic!

He was vibrating with energy that needed to be spent as soon as possible. And he knew just the man to do it with! He fired off a text, grinning with anticipation, and told the cab driver to go faster, for the love of God.

*****

Mycroft Holmes had been spending a strenuous morning, had gobbled down a sandwich that Anthea had bought for him for a five-minute-lunch and then hurried to the next meeting. And he had just sat down behind his desk to read some important contracts when he had received the text.

He had groaned in agony. But yes, he had felt proud as well. Little Brother had solved a very complicated case for Scotland Yard. Mycroft would have loved to talk about it to him over some excellent dinner, perhaps even with lit candles on the table, and celebrate his success in style. But Sherlock could not wait so long, oh no. Riding on his post-case high, he had to get rid of the adrenaline, otherwise he would simply explode. At least that was what he firmly believed. Mycroft had tried more than once to explain to him that this was not scientifically proven, but Sherlock had haughtily told him that _he_ was the scientist of the two of them, not Mycroft. And then he had just taken him.

So as soon as Mycroft had glanced at the text in horror, he had hurried to his bathroom and done some quick preparations. He had caught a sympathetic look from Anthea when he had been hastening past her desk, and when he had returned, walking a tad awkwardly, she had assured him before he could even open his mouth that she would keep all potential visitors away from his door. Apart from one, obviously. If she had tried, there would have been a Sherlock-sized-hole in the door afterwards…

He got up now when he heard Sherlock's deep baritone from Anthea’s office. He hastily took off his tie so he wouldn’t get almost strangulated with it, again, and devotedly waited for the door to be pushed open. He didn't have to wait for very long.

*****

“Down with your trousers!” Why was he not naked already?! Hadn’t his text been clear enough?

“Good afternoon, Sherlock. Listen, I am really very busy right now, could we...”

“No. I wonder why you even try. Take them off and sit on your desk.” Mycroft opened his mouth to protest but Sherlock raised his forefinger. “Ah!”

“Fine, have it your way,” Mycroft mumbled, shrugging off his jacket, and Sherlock grinned.

“I always have it my way, darling.” He had already let his coat slide onto the floor, and now he deftly opened his jeans.

“Nasty brother.” Mycroft unzipped his black trousers.

“Stop grumbling. I was splendid!” He stepped out of his pants and kicked them aside.

“Yes, you were. Nobody said you weren’t. But we could...”

“On. Your. Desk. Forget about the socks!”

“But it looks ridiculous when I… Oomph.” Mycroft clung to Sherlock's neck when he was unceremoniously manhandled onto the edge of his desk, covering a folder with a part of an arse cheek, while his mouth was captured in a greedy kiss.

“Ooh, you’re prepared.” Sherlock joggled the pink plug that was poking out of his brother’s entrance. Then he pulled it out, making Mycroft hiss.

Soothingly, he rubbed his sticky hole with two fingers. “Mm, sexy brother. Ready for the brilliant one.”

“Let me just put my mug away. And the PM…”

But Sherlock wasn’t listening. He pushed inside, only stilling for a couple of seconds to give his brother’s well-used hole the opportunity to get acquainted to the intrusion. “Put your arms around my neck and get prepared for the ride,” he commanded, and Mycroft sighed, giving up his pointless opposition, and then Sherlock was fucking him, urging him to also sling his legs around his hips, and he moaned into Mycroft’s mouth, feeling all the pent up energy flow into his groin. Making the desk rattle, he pumped away with his arms tight around his brother, his mind drifting off, his hormones running wild and his lips turning into a pleased, silly grin at his own brilliance and at lovely big brother getting himself fucked into oblivion.

*****

Mycroft had long forgotten about the PM, contracts, decency and work days. Holding onto Sherlock with his arms and legs for dear life, he was being taken to heaven and hell at the same time. His prostate was screaming with pleasure, his trapped, throbbing cock was pushing against Sherlock's six-pack stomach with each deep thrust, and his brain had said good bye for the time being. He barely realised that he was drooling onto Sherlock's shoulder and making inhuman noises, muffled by either his brother’s eager mouth or his neck he was biting in. This was bliss and stinging pain, incredible arousal and a total loss of dignity – business as usual whenever Sherlock paid him a post-case visit. Walking would be a challenge, sitting would be horror for the next few days and he couldn’t have cared less.

They moaned and groaned and grunted themselves through their fierce coitus, curls and sweat and lubricant flying, and Mycroft was chasing his climax as well as Sherlock's, and they both exploded with great timing within seconds after Sherlock had placed his deepest stroke with a bestial grunt.

Sperm was shooting up in the hardly-there space between their connected bodies and deep into Mycroft's canal, making everything that had been still placed on the desk, most unreasonably, a lost cause.

Panting and shuddering, Sherlock still logded inside him, they fell against each other. They stayed like this until Sherlock's legs gave way and he tumbled backwards, dropping into the visitor’s chair with a satisfied and rather moronic smile, all energy having left his body. “Thanks, brother. That was fantastic.”

Mycroft slid from the desk and stumbled towards his chair, not caring about his condition or the stinging in his abused hole. “It was, little brother.” He rubbed his face, feeling rather tired and thoroughly spent. Slowly, he got his senses back and got up with a groan to collect his clothes. Before he got dressed, he took some wet wipes out of the top drawer and cleaned himself up quickly, shoving the box over to Sherlock, who reluctantly refreshed his spent cock. His shirt was completely crumpled and full of sperm, and so was Mycroft's. Which wasn’t a problem. The older man dragged himself to a wardrobe on one side of his office, and chose two spare, white shirts.

He also had a comb in his desk, which he used to tame the mess on his head before he handed it to Sherlock.

Five minutes later, they were both dressed again, more or less ready to face the world. Mycroft opened the window to let out the smell of sweat, sperm and sex, and then Sherlock pulled him in for a deep kiss.

“Thanks for indulging me, Mycroft.”

“Anytime, you brilliant menace.”

They leaned their foreheads against each other and chuckled, and then Sherlock left for the next adventure.

Mycroft, avoiding Anthea’s forced-serious face and sparkling eyes, made another visit to his private bathroom before he returned to his chores.

He and baby brother had been together for five years now – and not a day had been boring. When the PM came for a quick meeting, he remarked how happy he was looking, and Mycroft hurried to put on the grumpy grimace he used to show the world. But inside he was still smiling.

The End

  
  



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